Scinde; or, The Unhappy Valley

THE "Shippe of Helle" - i.e. THE
GOVERNMENT STEAMER THAT TOOK US TO SCINDE.

STEP in, Mr. Bull, - after you, Sir!

I hope you liked Trafalgar, and Tarifa, and Gibraltar, and Algiers, and
Malta, and Alexandria, and that you found the realities of travel almost as
entertaining as the thousand-and-one Di-, Pan , Physi , Poly-, and other -oramic
imitations at which you have been perseveringly staring these last few years,
sir.

You have now quitted Suez, which a facetious "entertainer" very graphically
described as being the Grand Depot for the Overland Babies-you are pacing the
deck somewhat curiously and excitedly as the steamer tears furiously down the
middle of the Red Sea.

But you look in vain towards me, your guide. I will not answer a single
question. One of these days, Mr. Bull, when you are quite recovered from the
fatigue and annoyances of this Oriental trip, when Mrs. Bull once more allows
you a few weeks leave of absence, when the boys and girls are all in rude
health, and at work, as good children should be, and when there is no squabble,
clerical, laical, on public grounds or on private grounds, in your happy
home,-no murders in the neighbourhood to engross your attention and your spare
time-then, sir, may be I shall offer my services as courier to you down the
eastern coast of the Erythraean Sea up to Senaa in Yemen, the capital of that
land of happy name.

The "Semiramis," or some other confounded place of punishment with a
high-flown misnomer, is in orders to convey from Bombay Harbour to Kurrachee a
freight of 600 negro souls and bodies. Go we must, sir,-and by her, too; go we
must. At this time of the year, October, a coasting voyage in a sailing vessel
northwards, is a beautiful illustration of the Moral Impossible.

"Hollo, young man I where am I to put my box? Show me to my berth, will ye ?
And I say, don't forget I want that carpet-bag down in the cabin, and, O, yes,
by-the-by, the hat-box must come too, --what the deuce is the matter with you ?
"

Oh, Mr. Bull! Mr. Bull! what a sore and grievous premier pas is this I that
gentleman whom you mistook for a steward, is the third lieutenant, an officer in
the Bombay Marines, alias the Indian Navy, and an individual of infinite
importance in his own estimation, if not in that of others. A subaltern in a
steam-frigate, sir, is a regular sea-satrap -- under authority, it is true, but
not a whit the less capable of pasting authority on with a mode and manner which
render it extra-authoritative. Besides you have unconsciously touched a most
sensitive "raw." He and all his cloth are rabid at the degradation of
having to transport "soldier-officers," of being obliged to defile their
spotless decks with "dirty passengers " and "filthy sepoys." The least allusion
to this great grievance is sure to arouse a tornado of wrath in the blue-coated
bosom. Now hearken to the thunder that bursts over your devoted head---

" Go to the D----, you old fool. I say, Quarter master, pitch that fellow's
traps overboard sharp, d'ye hear? Ending with a tirade of personal
observations, not of a complimentary description. Were the said lieutenant a
fellow-passenger with you to Margate or Herne Bay, I should counsel you to
invest a five pound note in revenge-not that you would require much advice about
the matter.

But my dear, fat, old, testy, but very unblood-thirsty papa de famille, here
- in these Eastern seas - all you can du is to swallow, with as few grimaces
possible, the bitter bit which you took into your mouth.